Something about a Willing Heart
by Carelna
Summary: Sometimes those who survive are less lucky than those who die.
1. Chapter 1: Something about War

**Hey! **

**Alright, I've never written about Hobbit before, but I got an idea and it didn't leave me alone. This will be a multi-chapter story and it will be updated slowly as I don't have a lot of time for it. But it will be updated! Eventually. I plan to finish this. **

**I have been rather angry at times reading other stories concerning Kíli and Fíli. People always seem to think that Kíli is always reckless and irresponsible and the weak one out of the brothers and I don't really agree with them. I see so much good in Kíli, although Fíli is a great person too. I just want to tell you, what I think would happen if the Battle of The Five Armies did not go as Tolkien wrote it. **

**Well, please read this and let me know what you think. I'm eager to hear your thoughts.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 1: Something About War**

A war. It was an awful and deadly matter, yet beautiful in ways one could never understand without seeing it first. The beauty of the battle lay in the bravery and love racing through every fighters' veins as they fought furiously for freedom and for home. But still, the utter terror hanging over the battlefield would have driven anyone to the verge of madness.

It was the very first war he had ever experienced. He couldn't help but think that very likely it would be the very last one as well. He was feeling the exhaustion rip his body apart. It felt as if every single one of his muscles was on fire. The fainting noises made no sense to him anymore and his arms were starting to feel numb. It felt pointless to try and keep a track on the Goblins running towards him, because there was no way he could count them all anyway. They were everywhere.

He was alone. At least as alone as anyone can be in the midst of a raging battle. He was surrounded by Goblins and Elves and Men, but none of them were his own kind. He had been separated from his brother and uncle in very early stage and though he still could hear their distant yells and shouts, they were nowhere near him. He was certain that if he died that day in the battlefield, he would die a lonely death.

He wished only to be united with his family again. His own kin. He did not need an easy escape from the battle nor did he need a comforting hand on his shoulder waking him up from this dreadful nightmare. He needed his brother fighting beside him and his uncle leading him towards the dangers and the enemy. He did not feel the need to extend his life if it was to end then and there. He just needed to see their faces for one time, may it be the last or not.

He stood on a large rock on which the Goblins had him cornered. He had been keeping his stance for a while now slicing and sticking around with his sword as fast as possible. He had been searching for a route or a moment to descend from his castle without ending up with his back strictly against rock. No need to say he had been unsuccessful.

* * *

Then there was the moment. A terrifying scream echoed over every battling creature and ripped the attention of the Goblins from him for a second. He didn't waste any time though and jumped to another rock where he was able to gain a better footing. He was now a bit further above the crowd that was surrounding him and very much more able to see around. Still, he felt cornered and underpowered. He needed to think something. And fast.

He searched the ground around him and was just about to leap to another rock, when he stopped dead on his tracks. His gaze had hit its mark just about fifty feet away where a group of Goblins had enclosed at least five of Dáin's Dwarves and twice the amount of Elves. He could recognise no one, but it did not matter. They were his allies and so they were all equals in battlefield.

He changed his direction and jumped towards the crowd with a terrifying, challenging battle cry. His face was scrunched up in fury and he waved his sword in a large circle. Never before had he hoped so much to have a bow strapped over his shoulder. Now he could have really used it.

Not bothering to mourn over the missing object he rushed towards his goal slicing through every Goblin that dared to come across him. His muscles were aching but he kept pushing through. He wasn't the only one fighting though. The Dwarves and Elves he had rushed to aid had drawn their swords and daggers and were re-joining the battle with all their might after a moment's despair.

He found himself smiling and silently rejoicing the fact that they were indeed gaining the upper hand, when a massive pain exploded in his shoulder and forced him on his knees. The cry that erupted from his lips was unlike anything he had ever heard and for a moment he did not understand where it had come from. And then the source of the voice dawned on him along with the realization that he was unable to move his right arm at all without wanting to collapse and throw up at the same time. He had been hit. With what, he wasn't sure, but it hurt. _A lot_.

For a split second he was certain he would never be able to wield a sword or use his bow again, but then he commanded himself to get it together. It meant nothing that he wanted to lie down and curl up into a ball, since he was in no position to grant such wishes to anyone, least of all himself. He had to stand up and fight if he did not want to join his forefathers.

Slowly and unsteadily he pushed himself off of the ground picking up his fallen sword to his left, slightly weaker fighting hand. His wounded arm hung uselessly against his side as he turned around and peered at his surroundings. He might have stopped for a while, but the battle certainly hadn't. Warriors from each of the five armies were dying everywhere and this time the noise was almost unbearable. Blood curling shrieks and low thumping when a body hit the ground.

Not for the first time and hopefully, not for the last either he was grateful for the variety of his warrior training and the fact that it had included a lot of work with his left hand too. He made a mental note to thank his uncle and master Balin after the battle. They had taught him everything he now needed to survive. And if he had anything to say about it, he would survive. Perhaps he would not be in one piece, but it would be a minor problem.

He was given no time to retreat or tend to his wounds before a swarm of Goblins came running towards him. He bettered his footing and stood straight and strong, eyes cast forward and willing the enemy to meet him. Willing the Death itself to meet him and fail in claiming him.

* * *

Never before had he fought like this. Never had he felt such _wrath _and he hoped he never would feel it again. It was unnatural and probably hurt him the most. It made him feel uncontrolled and exposed. Truthfully, part of his façade included certain vulnerability and madness but it was just a cover. He was mostly seen as an incredibly skilful warrior with a reckless, uncaring and stupidly proud head. Only a few knew his soft, quiet side. The side that made him care about the world and the side that allowed him to sit down and read a book without feeling the need to protect himself or his loved ones whenever he heard the tiniest noise. And how hard it was to balance between his two hearts. How hard it was to be a child and a grown-up at the same time.

He stumbled through the battle, the pain disturbing his concentration and movements. He was not dancing around as fluently as needed but he was still faster than most of his opponents and that only was enough to defeat them. Then it was all over in a split of a second.

* * *

He did not have time to see what happened, let alone react to it. One moment he was on his feet and the next he was lying on his back on the ground. His left leg was on fire and for a second he wondered if he should find out the reason or not. Finally he gave in to his curiosity only to wish he had not.

A huge Warg had its teeth clasping tightly around his thigh. He could see blood and flesh and _bone_ under the ruined, torn fabric of his trousers. The gruesome sight made him want to vomit. The urge was almost unbearable as he tried to hold it in. The knots in his stomach clenched and loosened and clenched and loosened and finally his body stopped resisting. His head turned sideways and he heaved contains of his stomach on the rock floor just as the Warg bit harder and lifted him fully off the ground.

Oh, how he wanted to scream and cry and _die_. But it was no avail. His throat being sore from all the shouting and retching could not muster up any sound and as tired as his body was the darkness would not come. And the Warg kept ripping and biting. He could have sworn it knew how it was hurting him and it was what it wanted.

Suddenly, he felt a harsh jerk swing his body and the pressure at his leg lessened when he flew gracelessly through the air. A low thump with which his back collided with a rock was barely audible and it did not bring any solace to him. The pain stayed along with his consciousness. He pondered about smacking his head back and forcing the darkness to come and claim him but he knew how dangerous game it was. It was like playing hide and seek with the Death. Although, right at the moment, he was quite certain that it would come anyway, as the startlingly red teeth of a Warg appeared above his face and it let out a growl full of blood lust. It craved to kill and kill it would.

* * *

Lying there, hopelessly floating in and out of the light haze of his mind, he reflected back to his first battle against the Goblins. They had won, but only barely. He had been injured and then thrown back first against a tree. He had been frightened and unable to help anyone as his own body was failing him. His brother and Uncle had defended him and afterwards treated his wounds and aching muscles with so much care he felt ashamed. He had sniffled how he did not deserve to be helped and loved so as he was nothing but a burden. And as soon as the words had left his mouth, his Uncle had swatted the back of his head lightly and murmured to him that nothing was expected from an injured dwarfling and that he would always deserve all the care and love directed to him.

"Remember something, boys. Fear is not weakness. Pain is strength. And I will always, always be proud of you, no matter what."

He had always known Thorin Oakenshield was a smart man. Even when they were just little dwarflings – he and his brother – they had wanted to become just like their uncle. They had wanted to be strong, loyal and honest and to follow their uncle whenever he went wherever he went and especially when he would go reclaim the Erebor, where he would be the King under the Mountain as he was destined. But now these words seemed light and useless. His fear was eating him and he was weak and the pain did not make him any stronger. He just laid there waiting for the final blow from the Warg. He wanted it to end. Mahal, how he hoped it would all end.

Then, a familiar cry pierced the air followed by another and he found his will again. He would not die without telling his uncle how much his stubbornness annoyed him, nor would he die without telling his brother how stupid he looked while he fought. And he definitely would not die before he had embraced them both once more and told them how much they meant to him. How much he loved them.

With that, he began searching. He extended his left arm from his side reaching for anything he could use as a weapon against the vulgar creature above him. Blood from the Warg's teeth was dripping on his face and made it harder for him to focus. Still, with a stroke of luck he was able to locate a handle of an axe left there by some unfortunate soul who had lost their weapon.

At first his fingers seemed to lack the strength to grip the weapon, but he forced himself to grasp the wood and lift it. With an agonizing cry he swung the axe and it embedded itself into the neck flesh of the Warg. The creature howled and growled and its claws dug deeper into the skin of his stomach drawing a thin line of blood and making his world spin around once again. Then the wolf-like monster breathed its last warm and heavy breath across his face before collapsing right onto him.

Then, he watched as the Great Eagles flew over all heads and listened carefully to the shouts full of hope. This battle would not be lost. His vision slowly blurred and the voices around him faded. He could only think that he had yet to die.


	2. Chapter 2: Something about Brothers

**Hey! **

**Okay, I said I would be updating this slowly, but I already had this one written before publishing the first chapter and now I couldn't wait for uploading this one, so... here it is. **

**This has a lot more characters and more voices and I hope it pleases you. At first I wasn't happy with it, but I re-read it just couple of minutes ago and I think it works well enough. **

**Again, if you could tell me what you think, I would be grateful. (Oh, and thank you for the reviews and all. I will be answering to them as soon as I can!)**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2: _Something about Brothers_

The battle was nearly over. A few Goblins still stood, but none lasted for long in the hands of the Elves, Men and Dwarves. At that moment it was anything but beautiful. The courage, love and cause had all disappeared from the warriors' minds and they all killed just for killing. There was enough bloodlust for an army to last a lifetime. That was to be expected though. None of the older, more experienced warriors seemed to mind the fact too much, but it was different for the younger ones. The sight after the battle was always more gruesome than during it and it turned more stomachs than any physical pain one could endure.

Friends sought help and console from each other and families were desperate to become reunited. Those who were not dead, injured or still hunting down the last breathing monsters to be slaughtered, were urgently trying to find their loved ones. Fathers, uncles, sons… And then there were brothers. Brothers, who should have always been found side by side.

Of course not all brothers were close enough to fight together, but Balin and Dwalin had always held a certain consensus in a heat of a battle. Their movements fit together perfectly and if either of them left anything unnoticed the other would most definitely be the saviour in the situation. This had worked for their advantage many times and the Battle of the Five Armies was no exception. Their flawlessness in working side by side kept them relative safe and they cherished that.

It was no secret that brothers were usually better fighters together than on their own. Fili and Kili's power was the ultimate proof. Both were deathly and dangerous without the other, but together they were almost invincible. They would strike and hit in unison or one after the other and it was nearly impossible to beat them while they stood back to back or shoulder to shoulder. The rare occasions they were separated during a battle usually resulted to one or both of them getting hurt. Mostly it was Kili with his stubbornness and disability to notice the smallest details – a skill that time and experience would provide – but even Fili was sometimes the one in need of care.

The two brothers walked slowly forward over the battlefield, slightly leaning on each other and every now and then finishing off an enemy so as not to hear their screams and curses. They were saddened and weary. Never was it easy to wander around without knowing when and where the most horrible sight would greet you. It was a small comfort that the sons' of Dís knew very well, where their strength lay and therefore Balin and Dwalin would have never thought to find one of them without the other after the strangest and largest battle of either of their all too short lives so far. Yet, they did.

* * *

Fili was the one they found first. Lying on his left side facing his unmoving uncle was a terribly battered heir of Durin with three arrows in his chest. There was blood on both their faces and clothes and hands. Their weapons lay abandoned a few feet away and they looked like their last breathes had already been drawn.

"No…" Balin whispered almost inaudibly and kneeled between the two. They were his kings and rulers, his friends and brothers. He could not bear to lose them. He reached out his hand to touch Thorin's face, while Dwalin stood awkwardly exactly where he had stopped.

"Are they…?" he whispered his voice quivering. It was unnatural and unnerving to see Dwalin in such a state. His eyes were unfocused and still his gaze never sifted from Fili's face. He was not sure if he ever wanted Balin to answer. Only one shake of a head could crush his world. He bit his lip and waited for what felt like an eternity.

Balin dreaded to touch either of his comrade's necks. He feared there would be nothing to find. Nothing to feel. He feared their hearts would not be beating like they were supposed to. He spared a glance at his brother and then, slowly as ever, he ghosted his fingers to Thorin's neck and felt relief floating over him, but only just. The pulse was weak and erratic and all it should not have been. Still, the beat was there. Thorin was still alive.

Swallowing Balin turned to Fili, who looked a little more of a lost cause than his beloved uncle. Of course he was a fighter, a fine one too, but Balin was oddly certain that he would not find relief or joy anymore. Fíli sure looked like he had gone beyond any help.

"Are they…?" Dwalin repeated softly. Balin was not sure if the old warrior even noticed speaking aloud. He did not spare a glance at his brother, though, so keenly he was focusing on the young prince in front of him. He willed his heart to beat. Willed his lungs to work. Willed his body not to give up. Willed him to _be alive. _But he had no luck.

An inaudible roar rose from his chest as he threw his head back and cursed the world around him. Of all people it was Fili, a strong, loyal and honourable young dwarf, a true warrior, who had fallen. Fili son of Dís, an heir of Thorin Oakenshield, a prince of Erebor, the very _soul_ of their company, was gone.

Balin coul feel his brother fall on his knees behind him and could _hear_ the tears running down his cheeks. They had lost a life. An all too short life.

They were not sure how long they sat there before Balin bolted up and started yelling at other dwarves around them.

"We need your help. Your _king_ needs your help. Come here and take him to the healing tents. I will lead you and we will see that this kingdom does not lose its ruler," he demanded harshly, trying to fill the emptiness inside of him with the last bit of authority he had.

"Do not bother them. I will take your king to the healers. I shall be faster than those dwarves,"a voice of Beorn suddenly roared out of nowhere and in a few seconds he had gathered Thorin from the ground and was heading towards the side of the battle field with a hasty pace.

Balin looked at the disappearing feature for a moment and then turned to his brother with a serious face. There was things he needed to do and things Dwalin needed to do.

"Stand up. You have an heir to find. He is the second to the throne now. _Find him_," he commanded and reached his hand for Dwaling to grab. The younger dwarf drew a stuttering breath and then accepted the help he was offered. He pushed aside the weakness of his limbs and the numbness of his mind and set his head to the goal. He had to find Kili.

* * *

Suddenly the peaceful silence was interrupted. There were voices calling for him, begging him to answer. They pleaded him to open his eyes, to wake, to _move_. But he knew he could not complete their wishes. He was tired and weak. Even breathing seemed to be too hard of a task. It took nearly all his strength to keep his chest moving.

The voices started to rise and they did no good to his already throbbing head. He wanted the noise to quieten or to stop, but he could not protest against it. All he could do was to let the agony take over his features as he tried to gather his strength.

He felt a hand on his cheek and knew someone was kneeling next to him on the ground. The hand was big and rough, but familiar in a way that made him want to lean towards it had he been able to move his head without passing out again.

"Nori, Glóin, help me! We need to get this thing off of him!" he could hear Dwalin yelling as the hand left his face. For a moment it was quiet again and then, when he felt the Warg starting to move sideways someone screamed.

The scream was filled with pure pain. The same kind of agony he felt. Something was trying to rip him apart. His left leg was about to give in and detach itself permanently from the rest of his body and his right shoulder was pressed so hard against the ground that he was certain it would leave a dent to the rock.

He was not sure how long it took, but when the weight finally seemed to roll off of him, he was panting. His eyes were still squeezed shut, but he was not hurting as much anymore. He felt like he could breathe deeper and make a sense out of his surroundings with a little less effort than before.

Slowly, he let his eyes flutter open. He could see Dwalin at his side again, inspecting his body as if trying to determine if he should be moved or not.

"Dwa…lin?" he whispered softly, his voice rasping.

"You are going to be fine. We are going to…" Dwalin started, but was cut off.

"Dwalin, is everyone alright? Are… are Thorin and… Fili alright?" he rasped urgently moving his uninjured hand up and towards his brother in arms, his friend, his mentor, his _cousin_. And Dwalin all but avoided his gaze and his touch. By that he knew something was wrong. Someone was hurt. Or worse.

* * *

"We will take you to the healers…" Dwalin said quietly not wanting to answer the question and possibly rile the young heir of Durin up. But the young one had a strong mind.

"Dwalin, please. Which… which one is it?"

Dwaling groaned inwardly. He did not want to have this conversation. Balin was better at these things. He was stronger in front of a tragedy and he could handle himself so much better before the pleading, desperate eyes of a child.

"Kili… It is… It is your brother. Fili is gone," Dwalin finally relented his mind so full of sorrow he did not think anyone could ever match his feelings. Yet Kili did.

A furious, grief-filled cry tore itself from his throat and his whole posture sagged even further against the cold rock. His lips quivered and his eyes closed again, fighting against the painful knowledge of his brother´s passing. And he fell silent. So silent, for a moment Dwalin feared for his life, until he rasped a question of his uncle.

"He… he is injured, Kili. We do not… We do not know if he will make it."

This time, his reaction was nothing Dwalin expected. He let out a quiet, defeated sob, but then pressed his left hand back against the ground and fought to push himself into a sitting position. Dwalin reached his hand out and touched his right shoulder wanting to force him on his back so as not to further injure himself, but instead making him fall back writhing and gasping and moaning and _choking_. Dwalin drew his hand back quickly and harshly, his eyes roaming over him, trying to figure out what had caused such a reaction.

"Talk to me, Kili," he pleaded urgently as the Prince kept arching his back and fighting the urge to vomit yet again.

"There… there is still hope… If he is alive… there is hope", he panted not looking at Dwalin, though the old warrior could tell he was on the verge of a complete breakdown.

"Yes, but I need you to focus on you Kili, just for a moment. If you can tell me where you are hurt, I can carry you and you can meet your uncle,"Dwalin reasoned glancing at Glóin and Nori, who had been standing a few steps away the whole time without uttering a word. He was about to tell them to do something. To get something they could use to tie Kili´s leg and stomach. To give him strength to deal with the anxious and pained youngster in front of him. But he had to do no such thing, as Glóin had took the glance as an invitation and was already kneeling on Kili's other side poking and prodding at his leg.

Dwaling had _never_ heard such voice leave his lips. Kili had always been the screamer. He would cry and yell and curse and yes, scream, but never _whimper. _ Yet that was the exact thing he did at that very moment. And that was a cue for Dwalin. Kili was in a bad way.

* * *

The pain was suffocating. He tried to pay no attention to the hands on his thigh. The last thing he needed was to make it hurt more by over-thinking it so he decided not to think about it at all. Thankfully, the sudden wave of pain in his shoulder had also ceased a little and all that was left was a steady throbbing.

Still he felt uncomfortable knowing that his brother might have been in much more pain before his passing and he had not been there to help him. He was not there now that his uncle might need his help. That was the reason he took Dwalin's reasoning. He did not like to admit being injured. He felt ashamed this time as well as he had felt every single time. He was a warrior. He had been trained to become the Captain of the King's Guard. How could he handle that if he could not even handle himself in a battle? And then it occurred to him that he would not have to worry about that position anymore. He was an Heir now, not the third wheel.

The thought made him shudder, but it also tore him from his thoughts and drove him to concentrate on Dwalin and his words as the older dwarf had started babbling in panic. There was a voice of Nori trying to calm him down, but Dwalin would not listen to anyone else than Kili, and he knew that.

"My… my leg. And… and my head. Shoulder. Back… Head," he finally whispered defeated, turning his eyes aside. He did not bear to look at Dwalin as he feared he would see only disgust or pity on his face. The fact that the youngster had mentioned his head twice did not increase the worry Dwalin was feeling. The fair amount of blood on Kili's face and the way he had to fight to stay awake told him enough about his condition. Dwalin feared that instead of one, they might lose all three heirs of Durin that night.

Dwalin bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment. He had to think of a way to get Kili out of here. To get Kili to someone who coul help him better than he could. He fixed his gaze at Glóin, who had started to bandage Kili's wounded leg with what little relatively clean cloth he was able to find. The other dwarf looked up at him sadly and shook his head. There was nothing more they could do.

"How bad is your shoulder? Do you think I can carry you, if we somehow fasten your arm to your body?" Dwalin asked softly and turned his eyes to the injured dwarfling again.

"I do not think we have another option. I fear I am in no condition to stand, let alone walk," Kili answered his voice going ever the quieter.

"Aye, we shall do it that way then."

* * *

He was not certain when the world had grown dark again. He was not certain whether he had passed out or simply fallen asleep. He was not certain whether he had talked to anyone after admitting his disability to stay up on his own feet. He was not certain what had happened between then and the moment he found himself from Dwalin's hold, arm strapped across his chest, his leg and stomach bandaged. He remembered no pain, no reassurances, no voices.

His mind was numb. He could only think all those things he had not had the chance to tell his brother. Things he had not had the chance to do. To _feel_. He could not remember when it was the last time they had hugged. He could not remember when was to last time they had shared a bed after one of them had been woken up by a nightmare or when was the last time he had told Fili how much he meant to him. He could not remember when was the last time they had rolled on the ground in a grasp of a laughing fit after a half serious wrestling match. He could not remember when was the last time they had truly been just the two of them or when was the last time they had been together. And now they never would be again.

His brother was dead. His big brother. The reasonable one. The cool one. The brave one. He was dead. The other half of him was dead. Dead. Dead. _Dead._

"You with me, lad?" he could suddenly hear Dwalin asking, but he did not bother to answer aloud. He only nodded softly against the rough fabric of the dwarf's shirt. He was tired. Exhausted really, but he did not want to let go of his consciousness now. If there was a possibility for him to see his uncle, be it for the last time or not, he would be up to it. He would fight for it, if someone was to tell him not to seek for his uncle's embrace. He had a feeling though that no one would deny the remaining Heirs of Durin anything right at the moment. While the whole company had lost something precious, the loss weighed most on their shoulders and everyone knew that they would need each other to get through this.

"You stay right where you are, alright, laddie? I do not want to be the one to explain your uncle why you are not awake enough to talk to him," the older dwarf continued half-heartedly. Later on Kili was not sure if Dwalin had kept talking, because while staying awake he closed his mind from everything. He forced his thoughts back to his brother feeling that if he thought of anything else, all the memories they had built together would disappear from his mind and he would leave Fili alone to the darkness.

No. He would not show disrespect to the memory of the older dwarf by moving his mourning forward just because he was in constant pain. He would not betray him now as he had done only moments ago.


	3. Chapter 3: Something about Sorrow

**Hey! **

**Thank you for the reviews and follows and all! I am grateful and happy about them. **

**Oh, I have been meaning to tell you that the ages are about the same they are in the movie, although I am well aware Tolkien did not write it that way. There are a lot of things he did not write, though. **

**Now, I am not entirely sure if I like this chapter, but it was something I had to write and I am not sure if I could make it any better if I tried. This again is a great time to read and review! :) And tell me, what do you think about the chapters' names.  
**

**Enjoy! **

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**Chapter 3: Something about Sorrow**

Balin was standing outside the healing tents pondering whether he should listen in to the on-going conversation between his king and Óin, the healer of their company. After Beorn had brought Thorin to the healers they had not wasted time before starting to treat his numerous wounds. Still, they were not particularly hopefull.

From the small amount of information Balin had been able to gather he had understood that the King Under the Mountain was most likely to be dead before the sun would rise to mark a new day. Balin was not sure if he should be devastated or try and stay stoic and hard and _proud._ After all, Thorin was his oldest friend and by that a lot more than just a king.

But there was the matter of Kili, he had to handle too. If the boy was still alive he would need a lot of support and Balin doubted he would accept it from anyone else than his uncle. The lad was young and clingy and had a sense of selfishness only the youngest child could possess. If he wanted his uncle, his uncle he would get, even if it meant his life. Not many would willingly admit it, but Balin had always known Kili thought himself better than his brother or anyone else for that matter. He might have been able to fool others with his innocent smile and contagious laughter, but not Balin. He had always seen straight through the youngster and if he was being honest to himself, he would have hoped Kili to die instead of Fili. Of course that was something he would never announce aloud. It could be counted as a crime against royalty. A treason. Besides, he had not wanted either of them to die, to be exact.

* * *

Balin had to shake himself out of his thoughts as he heard his brother's hollers. It took only a moment from him to spot Dwalin a few long paces away with something precious to hold, Glóin and Nori hot on their heels. Balin's sigh was relieved, as he knew that if Thorin would learn both his sister-sons had fallen, he would fade away faster than a light. The survival of Kili, even if it was only for a moment, would have their King gather his strength and fight back the injuries if just for his nephew's sake.

"Balin! Brother! We need healers, quickly," Dwalin's voice was demanding and left no room for arguments. His tone told the older dwarf that a lot like his uncle, Kili too, would not last long without a proper help.

"Óin!" Balin yelled sharply without taking his eyes off of the pair. There was a sudden stop at the conversation held in the tent behind him and soon the half-deaf dwarf emerged with a worried look on his face.

"What is… Mahal!"

Dwalin had made it to them just in time for Oín to see state of the youngest heir of Durin. Kili was leaning his head against Dwalin's chest and his breathing was laboured, though no one was sure exactly why. Balin gulped and fear rose inside of him again. The lad was definitely not out of the woods.

"Bring him in. Hurry. Balin, go and find Siggor. I shall need his help. As well as yours, brother," Óin said forcefully and indicated towards the tent he had just left.

"Uncle? I… need to… see him," Kili suddenly rasped and startled Glóin and Balin as if they had already forgotten his presence.

"You shall see him in a few seconds. We will place you two to the same tent," Dwalin explained softly and flashed a small smile as Kili looked slowly up at him. His eyes were bleary and unfocused, but they were open and the boy still had strength to talk, which Dwalin gratefully took as a good sign.

"Yes, yes. Now, come on!" Óin muttered impatiently and waved his hand towards the tent. Dwalin grinned at Kili only to try and cheer up the mood. Kili would need strong people around him, not those who already had lost their hope. The youngster did not seem to care and with a heavy sigh Dwalin carried him inside in Óin's wake.

* * *

The first sight he got of his uncle after the start of the battle made him want to retch and cry and _laugh._ He was at the same time perplexed by his poor state and relieved that he was still very much alive. He felt his breathing hitch as he started to struggle against Dwalin's hold.

"Let… let me… down. I need… to…" he started to mutter feverishly, but Dwalin would not do as he was told.

"Come on Kili. You know you would only hurt yourself. I will carry you and put you on the bed next to him, so that you will be able to face him. You said yourself you are not in any shape to be walking around and I intend to keep you from further harm," Dwalin answered sternly and squeezed his hand around Kili's arm a little tighter but not tightly enough to hurt.

Kili's struggles ceased but the effort left him panting as if he had no strength left in all his body.

"That is good lad. Give yourself some slack. You have been through a lot and you have done well. You need to calm down a bit," Dwalin encouraged and from the corner of his eye Kili could see Óin nodding, although he was quite certain the old dwarf had not heard what Dwalin had said, but thought it better to agree with him.

"Now, I will need to see to him. Place the lad on the bed, Dwalin," the healer commanded as if Kili had not been there at all. Kili would have rolled his eyes had it not made his head hurt even worse, but in his current situation he had to stick with only snorting half-heartedly. It felt wrong to be amused and the small smile died on his lips as fast as it had formed. His eyes started to get foggy due to the tears he was holding and he let out a soft sob.

Dwalin closed his eyes for a moment and squeezed the boy's arm before lowering him to the mattress. The dwarfling tensed as his position changed and Dwalin could almost feel his pain as his face scrunched up. He went to ask if Kili needed anything or if he had done something, but Kili paid no heed to him anymore. He had eyes only for his uncle.

The pair stared at each other with regret and sorrow, neither saying anything at first. Óin and the other healer Siggor started to tend to Kili's wounds, Glóin assisting them as well as he could, but it was as if the young heir had not even known they were there. He was in considerable amount of pain, yes, but it did not matter. Not really. Not there. Not then. Perhaps it never would. His brother could not feel pain anymore. Why should he care about it?

Thorin had never been so grateful to see his nephew than he was then in the healing tents. The lad was exhausted and there was a haunted look in his eyes Thorin did not like, but he was breathing and even talking. His voice was raspy and raw and Thorin feared greatly that the faith that had befallen on his older nephew would be the one of the younger's too. He had to remind himself, that Kili was a strong young lad in good physical shape and the fact that he had not died during the battle made his survival all the more possible.

Dwalin followed the wordless exchange for a second before bowing himself out of the tent to join his brother and Nori on the outside.

"Uncle…" Kili suddenly broke the silence between them. Siggor looked up from his work, but stayed tactfully quiet, resuming to his task with closed ears. Not that Kili would have cared, but Thorin was grateful for the healer's actions. Glóin glanced up quickly too, but much like Siggor he did not say anything and instead focused on helping his brother, who had not heard a thing.

"I am… sorry. I…" Kili whispered with a voice so broken it sounded almost pitiful. Thorin would have cut in and told him there was nothing to be sorry for if not for Kili's adamant face. He had something to say and he would say it.

"I am sorry for… for not being there. If I had been there I might… I might have been able to… save him. I promised… I promised to him, to… to _myself_ that I would keep him safe. I failed him. I am sorry Uncle," Kili murmured his tone showing tell-tale signs of how defeated he was. To Thorin it was clearly about Fili and he closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again he saw Kili holding his left arm over his face. His whole body was rigid and his breathing was even more laboured than before. The reason soon dawned on Thorin. Óin was working on the lad's shoulder, Siggor and Glóin clinging to his legs in order to keep him still.

There were cracks and snaps as the bones in the shoulder blade were reset and Thorin found him grimacing along with every single one of them. He stifled an urge tell them to _get their hands off of the boy_ and _could they nod see the pain he was in_ as he knew it was all done for the benefit of Kili. Óin would not have insisted on hurting him if he could have avoided it.

"Kili, listen to me. Focus on my voice," Thorin said quietly finding his voice after a sudden, pained gasp escaped from his nephew's lips. It took Kili a while to lower his arm and turn his head ever the slightest towards his uncle.

"Hear me out now, Kili. I was with him the whole time and there was nothing you could have done. He fell protecting me, Kili, me. Even I could not help him. I do not blame you. No one does, besides yourself," Thorin said his voice surprisingly strong. Kili swallowed and would have protested, but his voice was caught up in his throat as Óin moved one last bit of bone before finally releasing his grip.

"There you go. You did well, Kili. I will put a sling on it to keep it still. You are not allowed to use your arm in… well, I will tell you when it is in good enough shape to be used again," Óin praised softly. If he had waited for a frustrated sigh or roll of eyes or any other disapproving reaction from Kili, he was disappointed as Kili now turned his face fully towards his uncle with only a wince of pain as the movement pulled the muscles around the shoulder.

"But the job was not yours to do, but mine!" Kili said forcefully, his voice regaining its strength at a low speed.

"You had not vowed to protect him. You had not taken the oath to _die_ for him if it came to that. I had! And I failed him. I failed my own Brother! How can I ever be worthy of anyone's trust, if I cannot even keep my own Brother safe? It should have been me instead of him!"

"The blame does not lie on your shoulders. I was the one to bring him on this quest. _I_ was the one he died for, Kili. Do not dare to utter those words ever again. You did not deserve to die any more than Fili. Do not disrespect his memory by selling yourself short. Had you heard his last words you would not be saying any of this!" Thorin bellowed, though it pained him greatly both physically and mentally. He had to use a considerable amount of his remaining strength to keep his voice even, but he did it for Kili. He would have done anything for his boy. By the force of Thorin's words Kili's face dropped and his lips trembled slightly. His brother was nothing more than a memory. His bright, honest, lovable brother was a memory.

"What did he say?" his voice was dangerously low and his eyes were so full of remorse that Thorin had to fight the desire to curl up in himself and close the world out. Instead he forced himself to look his nephew reassuringly in the eyes.

"He said that he was glad you were not there to see him in such a state. He was glad that you do not have to remember him like that. He also said that you would blame yourself and that I had to make sure you would not dwell on it," Thorin explained slowly. Then he had to stop to catch his breath and gather his racing thoughts again. He did not let his gaze fall from his nephew, though.

Thorin saw how Kili had to bite back a scream as Óin's fingers dug into one of the wounds in his leg in order to assess the muscle damage. His right arm was now secured against his chest and he had no way of reaching the healer's hand to swat it away as Siggor was checking on his left arm for any unnoticed injuries. Agony was written all over the prince's features and Thorin thought it would be a good idea to try and distract him from the pain, so he kept going.

"He also said that you would make a wonderful heir for me. He told me to trust you, because you have had the same training as he had and your heart is pure gold. He had been torn between wanting and not wanting you to come on this quest. He did not want to be away from you and he knew there was no way he himself would be left behind, but he also did not want you to risk your life or the innocence that still is there somewhere. He said he was proud of you. Proud to call you his brother."

"He would have deserved the whole world to himself. He should not have had to share it with me. I… I ruined everything. His childhood was cut short as he had to start taking care of me and… now he is dead because I was not there," Kili mumbled and Thorin let out an exasperated sigh.

"Listen to your uncle, Kili. He is right. As was your brother. The guilt is not your burden to bear. Besides, there is no better gift than brotherhood, especially the kind you and Fili shared. I am sorry lads," Glóin murmured suddenly glancing at each of the Durins shortly before falling into silence again.

"But, if I was to protect him, how can it not be my fault?" Kili wondered absentmindedly as if he had not acknowledged saying it aloud.

"There are things no one can foresee or mend. This is one of them. You had your own problems on the battlefield and frankly, they seem to have been quite big too," Throrin reminded as Kili winced harshly.

There was a silence for a few moments, before Óin drew his hands away from Kili and clapped them soundlessly together.

"You did well, laddie. We can do nothing more for you as of now. You will be on bed rest until I tell you otherwise. I am sorry; I cannot give you anything for the pain because of your head injury. We have to see how bad it is, before we do anything else," he explained looking at Kili and then turning his eyes to Thorin, who unlike the youngster, seemed to have been listening.

"So, how bad is it?" Thorin asked unsurely, but loudly enough for the healer to hear.

Óin licked his lips before answering:

"Not good. His right shoulder blade is completely shattered. I do not know what happened to it, but it will take a lot of time to heal. His left leg was almost ripped off of his body by a Warg, judging from the marks. He has hit his head a couple of times probably and three of his ribs are broken. That is the reason of his breathing problems. Also, there was couple of deeper scratches on his stomach and a lot of bruises and other small wounds. Now, you should both get some sleep."

Óin glanced at Kili who had suddenly lost consciousness and was slumped uncomfortably against the pillows. He reached forward to guide the youngster into a better position and then left the tent with a low bow and an explanation of going to see to other patients.

And so Thorin and his nephew were left alone.

The older of the two watched the younger intently and saw the emotions battling on his face. There was guilt and sorrow and fear and pain and fatigue and if Thorin had had the strength to get up from his bed he would have. He needed to be close to his nephew, the last one alive. He wanted to draw him into a hug and not let go before the Death claimed either of them. He would not let go until all the tears had been shed and all the pain was finally gone.

But it was not an option as every movement made him weaker and weaker, although he struggled not to show it. Kili did not need to know of his pain as he had his own to deal with. It might have been selfless from him to do so, but it was also a way for Thorin to protect himself from the guilt of causing the lad to suffer more. If Thorin felt his heart was torn out of his heart to do the unexpected loss, Kili must have been beyond devastated. The brothers had been inseparable their whole lives, until now. Until they would not be reunited before the younger left the world behind his back too.


	4. Chapter 4: Something about Farewells

**Hey! **

**Now, finally a new chapter! I am not going to say anything here. Just, read it. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Something about Farewells**

The last moments of Thorin II Oakenshield were not particularly glorious or dignified. There were no magnificent celebrations of life. No last minute confessions. No forceful exclamations of pride. No tears or laughter. Only an apology and a request.

* * *

After Kili had passed out and the healers left the tent and there was nothing but silence left, Thorin was forced to give in to the pain. By no means was he going to surrender without a fight – Kili needed him! – but he was weak and Kili's persistence had taken its toll on him. He did not blame his nephew though. He had lost what was the most precious in to him in whole world.

Thorin was just starting to drift off to an unpleasant sleep when the door of the tent was opened and a small creature crept in slowly and carefully, followed by a strong:

"Hail! Thorin, I have brought him."

Thorin cracked his eyes open coughing harshly. He did not even bother to try and sit up. It was not that the Hobbit had not deserved such show of respect but rather that he knew the mission would end miserably. He followed Bilbo with his gaze as the burglar came beside him.

"Farewell good thief. I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate," Thorin said softly and there were tears in the burglar's eyes.

As Bilbo knelt on one knee to the side of his bed, Thorin felt a rush of sorrow go through him. He did not wish to leave yet. There were lot of things left to do.

"Farewell, King under the Mountain! This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils – that has been more than any Baggins deserves."

Thorin looked at the Hobbit in confused silence for a moment, before forcefully disagreeing:

"No! There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!"

Bilbo's eyes became even foggier from the tears and he lowered his head against the mattress to regain his composure. When he finally rose there was an almost soundless whimper to be heard from the other bed in the tent. Bilbo saw pain flash across Thorin's face at the sound and he cleared his throat.

"Is he going to be alright?" he asked tilting his head to the side and sparing a quick glance at the younger dwarf. He had sensed Thorin wanted the conversation to end, but had not been able to control himself when the young heir of Durin seemed so uncomfortable.

"I do not know. All I can do is wish and support him, but I may not be able to do that for long," Thorin answered regrettably. His words were not as big as they had been while he had said his farewells, but somehow Bilbo knew these came even straighter from his heart than the previous ones. It pained him to know what brought the words and the raw emotion behind them up.

"Is… Is he going to live?" Bilbo asked wincing at his own tone. He should not sound weak, but yet he did. Fili and Kili had been the children of the group and he had grown a soft spot for them. They had been constantly bugging and annoying him and the others but they had brought laughter and cheer to them when the world seemed too dark and dangerous to live in. They had been important members of the Company and now one of them was gone.

Thorin was no longer looking at him, but at Kili. Bilbo had never seen the boy look so pale and tired and hurt. It was as if the lad was completely broken. His body was twisted into an awkward position in unconscious attempt to avoid putting any weight on his injured shoulder. His face was contorted and there was pain and fear mixed together. Every once in a while he let out a low whimper or a sniffle when something pulled on his aching muscles or jarred his bones and Thorin cringed along with every single noise.

"I do not know," Thorin answered finally with a heavy sigh, "but they are hopeful."

Silence followed. It was not peaceful, calming silence but rather painful and full of agony.

"I cannot help him anymore," Thorin suddenly whispered brokenly, his voice betraying the regret and guilt he carried on his shoulders. Bilbo was not sure if Thorin was talking about the nephew sleeping restlessly on the cot beside them or about the one who was lying in another tent with his eyes closed forever, but he did not dare to ask.

Much to Bilbo's relief the injured King started to talk again, his voice strained and thick with emotion.

"I should not have let them come to this quest. My nephews, they have… been like sons to me. I have failed them and I have put one of them in peril and the other one will have to live without his other half. But what is done is done."

There was again a moment of silence. Only the soft rasp of the breathing of both heirs of Durin was to be heard as Bilbo held his own, waiting Thorin to continue.

"There is something I must ask you to do. The others will do it whether I ask or not, but he will need someone who does not constantly remind him of us. Please, do not part back to Shire, at least not before the Dwarves from Ered Luin have arrived. He will need you by his side and I ask of you to stay there, support him and keep your eyes on him. We Dwarves are rash and quick in our anger, but you are gentle and patient and your presence would be good for him."

Thorin looked at Bilbo for a moment but carried on once again before the Hobbit had the time to collect his thoughts and form and answer.

"I… Can you do it? Please? Can you help him?" Thorin pleaded uncharacteristically. Bilbo swallowed and nodded.

"Of course I will! He may be older than I am, but I feel like I should try to protect him. I… He is very dear to me," he answered hastily and tipped his head forward a bit as if he meant to bow.

"I cannot thank you enough… Now I am tired. I should not want you to be here if I was to leave this world. I am fading and I think I will now go to sleep. Once again, farewell, dear burglar. We shall see in another life."

And then, with one last look at his nephew he closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. Bilbo stared at his new-found friend, bowed deeply and then left the tent with a stuttering sigh.

* * *

Thorin laid on his bed his breathing getting ever the slower. The soft voices from his nephew faded away from his ears and everything stopped around him. He exhaled shakily and then it was all over.

Thorin II Oakenshield, the leader of the Dwarves of Erebor, the rightful King under the Mountain, was no more.

* * *

**I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, don't hurt me! **

**Plus, I'm sorry it was so short, but I wanted the chapter to end like this and I felt wrong putting more on it. So... **


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